


Swinging for the Fences

by M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, Pre-Season/Series 01, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25530400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/pseuds/M%20J%20Holyoke
Summary: It was a swinger’s club for international elite set, essentially. They held events in cities throughout the world, and tonight they were hosting a lavish, summer bash in NYC. Invitation only. Non-famous, non-rich, non-powerful people need not apply. Anybody who was anybody in the know had been talking about it formonths.The nature of the gossip was what had originally made Ainsley’s student journalist ears perk up.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13
Collections: Just Married Exchange 2020





	Swinging for the Fences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badritual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/gifts).



“I mean, well. It’s a very interesting theory, sure. But he’s not going to be the nominee, so why does it matter?”

Ainsley rolled her eyes. “It _matters_ , Malcolm, because he still might be the nominee four years from now. They might even give him a cabinet position. Wouldn’t _you_ want to know if the future Secretary of State has, um, shall we say, _entanglements_ with foreign oligarchs?”

“I suppose.” Malcolm hesitated. “Look. What he’s doing probably isn’t illegal, though. At the FBI, we wouldn’t just—”

Ainsley threw up her hands in exasperation. “Just because it isn’t illegal doesn’t mean it isn’t dishonest and hypocritical! If this is true, the public deserves to know!”

“Well . . .” Malcolm’s eyes lit up, like he’d been struck by sudden divine revelation from on high. “Why don’t you just interview mother instead? That would be so much easier.”

“Seriously, Malcolm? Mother doesn’t kiss and tell; how could you have forgotten that? It’s almost like you never come up from D.C. to visit us anymore.” There, that should get the guilt trip started. Today was the first time she’d seen her big brother in the flesh for six whole months! And now, for the _coup de grace_ : “C’mon, I need this material for my master’s project. Don’t you want me to graduate on time?”

“It’s not about—”

Ha! He was going to relent, Ainsley could tell. Okay then, no backing down—she had to keep on pressing her advantage. “I promise this’ll be the best way. You’ll be doing an invaluable service for the journalistic enterprise. I’ve already got us an invitation for tomorrow night. And look, see, I’ve already picked this out for you. Here, try it on.”

Malcolm clutched the wedding ring in a white-knuckled grip and stared at Ainsley with an expression that looked remarkably like terror. “Ains, _no_ …”

* * *

It was a swinger’s club for international elite set, essentially. They held events in cities throughout the world, and tonight they were hosting a lavish, summer bash in NYC. Invitation only. Non-famous, non-rich, non-powerful people need not apply. Anybody who was anybody in the know had been talking about it for _months_.

The nature of the gossip was what had originally made Ainsley’s student journalist ears perk up.

Ainsley made certain that she and Malcolm arrived over an hour early. “I need to speak to the host,” she said to the first person they encountered.

The person in question, who looked to be a sommelier, pointed them in the direction of a discreet area adjacent to the bar that was set up as a private office.

“Excellent. Let’s go, Malcolm.”

She’d done some research beforehand about normal swinger culture and learned that the women usually took the lead in social interactions. She saw no reason why this would not apply to international elite swinger culture as well, and being the one in charge suited her agenda just fine in any case.

They found Aaron Slackhart on his laptop, a large glass of something clear and fizzy close at hand. A mixed drink? Or just club soda? Slackhart liked to say publicly that he never drank. In any event, he did not look in their direction as they entered his office.

“We brought the results of our STI screenings,” Ainsley said without preamble, all business. “We’re clean.”

Slackhart took the paperwork she handed him and scanned it closely. “Ah yes, Mrs. Whitly, of course. You’re a spitting image of Jessica at your age. Funny, I don’t recall hearing anything about your wedding . . .”

“It was a small, family-only affair. No press,” Ainsley interjected smoothly.

Slackhart didn’t miss a beat. Nor did he bother to comment on Ainsley not wanting press at her wedding when she herself was known to be a grad student at Columbia Journalism School. People like Slackhart and her mother didn’t even register the irony. “I see you’ve kept your name after marriage,” he continued. “An interesting choice. Mr. Malcolm Bright? You’re a lucky man. You take care of Ainsley, you hear?” In spite of his words, he barely bothered looking up at Malcolm at all.

Ainsley could tell that this little preliminary interview was already over. “Thank you, Senator Slackhart,” she said. “My husband and I are looking forward to a diverting evening.”

“Indeed,” Slackhart replied. “The rest of the guests are just beginning to arrive. Please, make yourselves comfortable and have fun, you hear?”

* * *

“That’s Mel Gibson, jeez. I can’t believe I used to have a celebrity crush on him when I was, like, five. You remember that, Malcolm?”

Malcolm didn’t reply. As a matter of fact, he looked like he was a million miles away and maybe millimeters from a panic attack. His breathing was uncharacteristically rapid. And he didn’t seem to have heard his sister speaking above the din of music and chatter. 

“Whoa. Is that Kim Jong-un’s sister?” she tried. “How is she even in the United States? Hey, Malcolm, do you think the FBI might want to know about this?”

No reply. Again. Ainsley was starting to feel vaguely irritated by her “husband’s” lack of participation.

“Oh my God, _is that the Director of the FBI?!_ ”

“What—where—”

“Just kidding.” Ainsley patted Malcolm on the back condescendingly and rolled her eyes. You’d think he’d never seen people having sex in public before. “You could try looking a little less like a deer in the headlights and at least _pretend_ you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Ains,” Malcolm bleated, cringing from the openly appraising gaze Kim Jong-un’s pretty maybe-sister was giving his groin area. “You’re an adult; you can do what you want. But I thought we agreed that I was just here to watch. You said they’d be fine with a husband who just tags along to watch and—”

“Why, he-llooooo, darlings!” Mrs. Slackhart cried out in her exaggerated Southern drawl as she plopped herself down between Ainsley and Malcolm, brazen as you please, not even with a by-your-leave, and threw a companionable arm, one each, around both her and Malcolm’s shoulders. “Aaron told me you’d be here. I had no idea you’d taken up the lifestyle!”

Now _this_ was more like it. _This_ was what Ainsley had in mind when she’d wheedling an invite to this event from a friend-of-a-friend. “I wouldn’t say we’ve taken up the lifestyle properly yet; I guess we’re still experimenting to see how we like it.”

“An admirable first step regardless, Ainsley my darling.” Mrs. Slackhart patted Ainsley with motherly affection on the cheek and turned to look at Malcolm. She was obviously impressed by what she saw—her amble bosom puffed out, and her cheeks colored. She licked her lips unconsciously. “My, my. Aren’t you the handsome one? Ainsley, my darling, you are to be congratulated for netting such a fabulous catch from the proverbial gene pool. I must confess that I do believe I’d fancy a taste of him myself. Would the two of you be interested in joining me and Aaron later?”

“We’d love to,” Ainsley replied, ignoring Malcolm’s rapid, S.O.S. blinking. “You should know, though—Malcolm’s only committed to watching tonight.”

The air around Mrs. Slackhart seemed to drop ten degrees. “Oh, I see.” She had lost all interest in them. She stood up, already interested someone else in the direction of the dance floor. “Perhaps another time, then, Ainsley my darling . . . ?”

“No problem,” Ainsley said.

Mrs. Slackhart waved distractedly at Ainsley and Malcolm and promptly threw herself into the arms of a middle-aged man Ainsley didn’t think she recognized. “Long time, no see, darling!” Mrs. Slackhart cried.

“Well, that was a brush-off. I feel vaguely insulted,” Ainsley muttered half to herself. “Though I can’t help but think most of the brush-off was because my ‘husband’ is such a prude . . .”

“ _Ains_.” Malcolm’s hand was gripping her arm so hard it almost hurt. “That man”—he was indicating subtly in the direction of Mrs. Slackhart’s new paramour—“I’ve seen him on the FBI lists. That’s Vladimir Putin’s right hand.”

“‘Vladimir Putin’s right hand’. . . ?” Ainsley echoed stupidly.

Malcolm: Reluctant Husband was gone, replaced by Malcolm: FBI Law Enforcement Officer. “We need to leave. Right. Now.”

* * *

As Malcolm had predicted, it wasn’t illegal. But, as Ainsley had predicted, it _was_ a super-duper scandal.

“The Slackharts never hid the fact that their five children were conceived via sperm donors, but they always implied when asked on the record that they were _anonymous_ sperm donors. Somehow, I don’t think Vladimir Putin’s right hand _quite_ fits that bill,” Ainsley crowed.

The resemblance between the man they’d seen making out with Mrs. Slackhart and their eldest son, currently aged twelve, was uncanny. Chasing down additional leads from sources that night at the swinger’s club had turned up two more potential sperm donors: 1. A former Google executive currently working in an advisory capacity for three of the largest NGOs in Africa and Southeast Asia. 2. A right-wing politician from Brazil with presidential ambitions. She was still researching the fathers of the last two children, and given the precedent already set, she was sure they’d turn out to be just as dubious.

“It’s a clever way of forging political alliances, I’ll give them that,” Ainsley said. “If it’s not illegal, it should be. I’m hopeful that Slackhart’s own ambitions will be permanently curtailed after I publish this article. I do feel bad for the kids, though—good God, can you imagine how they’ll feel when they find out who their fathers are!”

“I can imagine it quite vividly, actually,” Malcolm muttered.

Ainsley winced. Oops. She hadn’t meant it like _that_. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help with this, Malcolm. My master’s project is in the bag, and I’ve already got job interviews scheduled with—” Her phone was ringing. It was their mother’s ringtone. “Mother. Sorry, I should take this.”

Ainsley brought the phone up to her ear. “Why does Vanessa Vanderbilt think you’re married?!” Jessica Whitly shrieked.


End file.
